Hell's Napkin
by Notatracer
Summary: *Complete* Part 1. Story of Azrael's fall from Heaven, experience of Hell, and what's with the napkin? Next: 'Uncomfortably Green'
1. An Angel's Disposition

(Story order: 1. Hell's Napkin 2. Uncomfortably Green 3. Leviticus Sandbox 4. Something Wrong 5. Black Eye Perplexity; also Azrael Drabbles: short stories from my universe)

Rain flooded from the mournful black sky, drenching the traveler. He hated that he had to walk the distance from the Garden to this slush pit by the Red Sea. He wasn't sure why he had to walk, some sort of dramatic effect he assumed. A punishment. He didn't understand a lot of the things God did. Even his name, for example, seemed a little bit off… 'whom God helps'. He scoffed at it's definition, 'When did He _ever_ help me?'

By nature, he was an artist. He was content to spend the days creating. There were only a few humans on the Earth, so he didn't get much opportunity to exercise his creativity in inspiration. So, instead, he decided to create a creature for this little experiment of a planet. The result was the duck-billed platypus. It wasn't exactly what he had been hoping for, but it was his own creation just the same.

Now he was out in the mud and the rain, a most miserable situation. He had been sent out to do this unpleasant task because no one else would. Everyone else was afraid. In truth, he was as uneasy about doing this as much as anyone. He had one advantage over the other angels though; Lilith actually liked him for reasons unknown.

After that damnable war in Heaven, he had been on shaky ground with God. He had refused to fight for either side. The whole war was ridiculous in his eyes, a waste. He was an artist, not a fighter. He didn't really care who won, so long as it was over with quickly. Even his own sister joined in the madness, fighting on God's side. The rebels were sent down into Perdition, a place of infinite cold and misery… sadness. Rumors were flying that he, too, would be sent down to the Pit soon for his refusal. That was the reason he agreed to do tasks that were not in his job description. When Michael, Gabriel, Israfel, and Germael had all failed to retrieve the dirt that was needed to create that _thing _known as Adam, he had succeeded. He was even assigned the task of trying to understand the disposition of the human soul and was given the new title Archangel of Death. The angel took his newfound assignments very seriously, though all he ever truly wanted to be was an artist. 

He continued to trudge through the mud. He was walking slightly stooped, his wings extended up and over his head, in a makeshift umbrella. He was the only abstract with wings and he was quite proud of that fact. They had been his reward for helping to create man. He was also the only male among all the female muses. He had one sister and several female cousins. Not that there were actual genders per se.

With all the female influence, he had gone on to implant the idea of women's rights into Lilith's mind. It was innocent enough, to open her mind up to the fact that she was equal, if not better, than the monolithic Adam. But, things went sour quickly and the doormat called Eve replaced her. This whole ugly incident solidified in his mind that God was defiantly neither male nor female, despite Her appearance. 

His destination, a small dilapidated hut, was almost within reach. The hut shouldn't have existed, not yet. But it, like many things created by both angels and demons, didn't necessarily fit in with the time period. 

A high pitched, pained female scream wailed in the night. He stopped and stared across the divide at the hut. He had never heard the sound of mortal pain before. Was it too late to turn around? Yes, he realized it was too late the moment God told him what She wanted done.

His mission that night was actually a simple one. He was charged with the task of taking Lilith's child from her. Taking a woman's newborn baby seemed like nothing, but it depended on who the woman was. She wasn't completely a human, as she was never born. After she left Adam, she began taking up relations with various demons. Mind you, this was still a few years before God had removed all the sex organs from every single angelic being in all plains of existence. The business with Lilith was one of the key reasons why. 

It has been said that Lilith gave birth to one hundred babies a day, but this is simply a myth. While she was still living, she gave birth to only one child fathered by a lowly demon named Dagon. She had been warned that if she did not return to Eden, her baby would be taken the moment it was born. But, she could not return to Eden; would not return. 

Her screams echoed once again through the pitch-black night, finding the angel's curious ears. He found it most disturbing. He sighed and continued on the few remaining steps to the hut.

The door to the hut creaked as the angel pushed it open. He stood in the doorway and shook the rain from his wings before folding them behind himself. The smell that soon greeted him was so offensive that it was almost blinding. Blood, filth, sweat, excrement... the putrid smells of humanity. Angels and demons are generally scentless, though some angels do tend to give off a faint floral or baby powder scent. The angel wrinkled his nose. He thought that if he had a digestive system, he may very well have vomited.

The visual wasn't much better. Lilith was on a dirty brown blanket, legs spread. Her tattered dress and surrounding areas were covered in blood. Much more than there was supposed to be. Dagon was at her side, watching with great curiosity. Humans were new creatures to everyone. And, birth… well… it was a horrific event unto itself.

The angel could only watch as a small head appeared from between Lilith's legs. It was such a sight that he couldn't look away. He had never seen birth before… or blood, or pain. He didn't care for it in the least. Disgusting creatures, these mortals. He took a couple of steps forward to get a better look. He took note of the baby's forehead, no horns. Good, he thought, maybe he wouldn't be asked to kill it after all. He didn't know why God wanted the baby, except perhaps just to punish Lilith. Grudges aside, the truth of it was that the child was not really human, angel, or demon. Therefore, it couldn't remain on Earth. 

With one final push, the baby landed on the filthy blanket. Lilith lay back. She was exhausted, panting, and nearly dead. The angel knew that she wasn't long for the mortal world. At least not in her human incarnation. The baby seemed by all accounts to be a normal healthy girl. Though no one at this point knew what a normal healthy baby actually looked like. Not knowing human anatomy, neither the angel nor the demon knew that the baby should have had an umbilical cord, which she lacked. However, she had a belly button, which was not unusual. All of the angels and demons had belly buttons, though God refused to tell anyone why. The baby did not cry. She was not harmed in any way, just she didn't cry. She had no reason to. She wasn't a recycled human soul mourning having to live again. She had a purple tint, covered in blood and other fluids... quite ugly.

Neither Lilith nor Dagon offered any resistance as the angel stooped down and picked the baby up off the floor. His hands instantly became red and sticky. He held her close to him, making sure not to drop her fragile little body. She left similar sticky places on his already wet and muddy formerly white suit. 

Lilith lifted her head, eyes barely open. She spoke in an ancient, long dead and forgotten language.

"I never thought they would have sent you to do their dirty work."

The angel shrugged.

"I'd like to think that the Powers thought I was the best man for the job. But, you just scare the others too fucking much. When all else fails, send the muse… that seems to be the motto these days."

Dagon glared at him, wordlessly cursing. He didn't trust anyone from 'up there'. The angel nodded in a friendly gesture, despite the hateful look being cast his way.

"Dagon."

Lilith's voice grew fainter.

"Is there no alternative?"

The angel shook his head 'no'. Without pausing to think of a possible way to help her, said, "I'm sorry…"

He turned and headed to the doorway, glad to soon be rid of the smell. He shifted the baby in his arms so that she would be protected from the rain by his jacket. As he moved her, he noticed that she had two tiny black growths on her back, similar in structure to angel wings. He puzzled over them for only a moment before tucking her safely away. He had more important things to worry over than a baby with wings; namely trying to figure out how to keep from being tossed out of Heaven. 


	2. Heaven

Warmth, love, peace, a pleasure so divine that it was second only to that of a good central air system. That's the only words that can even come close to describing the feeling that one such angelic being is filled with when he's standing in the presence of his creator. 

An accurate description of Heaven is impossible. The human mind can not even being to grasp the actual realities of unreality. It does, however, involve a lot of white light. Supernatural beings of all types do not actually live on the clouds, or alternately under the ground. The concepts of Heaven and Hell being actual places in the traditional sense of the words are all human constructs. They exist on plains of existence unlike anything imaginable. God did not create man in Her own image; man created Her in his image. Or Him, as the case may be. Of course, man did not create God, but in order to personalize Her and construct stories, he put his own spin on Her appearance. For the purpose of the this story being related onto paper, any and all otherworldly actions will be put into terms accessible to the human mind. In order to properly describe things exactly as they happened, the use of words that man has no definition for would have to be employed. And, as a side note, your brain would simply short circuit in the effort to wrap it around such abstract concepts. Since the purpose of this recounting of events is NOT to fry the brains of the readers… well, this is basically how it all happened. Some things man was never meant to truly know. Much like the planet sharing Earth's orbit, just on the other side of the sun, completely out of sight. Until, that is, the two planets collide with each other, which will happen on…. Oops, I believe I've said too much as it is. Scratch that last part.

The angel looked horrible. He was muddy, wet, bloody, and shivering. His once beautiful wings were tattered. 'This had better be worth it', he thought as he approached Her. The angel knelt before God Almighty, bowing his head. Not just because of protocol, but because he couldn't bear to look Her in the eyes. 

When She spoke, She never moved Her mouth. Her words instead filled the minds of those She addressed. This method of communication didn't work on humans however. The Adam incident proved that. She was going to have to look into recruiting a metatron, but that was a job for another day. 

"You did very well, Azrael."

The warm comfort that was Her voice in his mind made him forget how cold and tired he was. He tried to say 'thank you', but his voice failed to work. She heard him just the same. She knelt down to him. He looked up at Her face, making the mistake of gazing into Her eyes. The mirror of billions of galaxies swirling throughout the cosmos hypnotized him for a moment. She reached out and hugged him. The hug of a mother comforting her child. It felt good, but it made Azrael nervous. Something definitely was going to happen… something bad.

God kissed Azrael on the top of his head, then without a word said, "You have to leave."

He looked at Her, barely eeking out an almost pitiful, "Why?"

She gave no answer, just simply shook Her head.

"Why?!" he repeated with more vocality.

She put Her fingers to his lips with a "shhhhh". 

"Just tell me why…. Please."

She stood, a look of nothing but infinite compassion and patience on her face. He remained at Her feet. All he wanted to know was what had he done that was so terrible. What kind of message was She sending out to all of creation? He was being punished for _not_ inflicting harm on his fellow angels. It seemed so hypocritical in his mind. If he went out and pummeled an angel on his own accord, he'd be soundly punished. But, if he did the exact same action in the name of the Lord, it was commendable

She said nothing. He needed the dignity of a proper explanation that was not to come. In the blink of an eye, his world was changed forever and he would never ever completely know why.


	3. Life In Hell

Just as Heaven is an abstract, so is Hell. The Pit of the Damned. Where there's light in Heaven, there is darkness in Hell. It was a cold, silent, lonely place. The silence was so deafening that it would drive one to suicide. Only if you were present during the time of the silence, you were a demon… and unable to kill yourself. The demons couldn't even really harm themselves or each other. Boredom, darkness, an intense desire to cease to exist, these were the realities in the early days. It drove the demons mad. Some of them took their aggressions to the surface, fornicating with any creature they could. That didn't last long before God saw it fit to make all angels and demons anatomically incorrect. 

When humans started to come 'below', they brought with them a whole new concept… pain. The more aggressive demons delighted in this new reality, using the humans and their psychodramas as an escape from the tedium.

Azrael's wings were gone; taken away when he was expelled from Heaven. Oh, how he missed his wings. Not only were they good for flying, but they felt amazing when they were touched. It was a feeling that made human sexual relations pale in comparison. In exchange for all the various parts that had been taken away, he was given a relatively useless pair of horns. Whereas other demons had fearsome curved horns, Azrael's were more like those of a baby deer. Even so, he still hated them. They were the symbol of what he had become through no fault of his own. He was able to retract them for short periods of time, but to do so for more than a few minutes caused great pain. He decided to compromise by wearing a hat.

At first, he tried to fill his days by talking to the other demons. But, they weren't exactly what he'd call his type of people. They were simple creatures who knew little of art and could care less. Besides, all of his friends were angels. He tried to create something, anything, but failed. 

He sat on a rock overlooking a gorge for a while; a long while… going slightly more crazy with each passing year that he sat there lost in his own thoughts. Plotting revenge became a reoccurring theme. He hated Her that was true. But, he also loved Her and wanted more than anything to be back amongst the angels. Feeling the sunshine of everlasting love, instead of this emptiness that felt like decay. Then, _they_ came and broke his solitude.

The change seemed to happen suddenly. The flames, the heat, that unmistakable stench… mankind had arrived and ruined Hell just like they ruin everything else. The wails, the screams, the crying, the moaning of the damned who apparently didn't know that they decided their own punishment and could stop it at any time. 

The wails reached Azrael's still delicate ears, breaking him away from his daydreams. He reached up, trying to cover his ears to little effect.

"Great merciful fuck!"

The screaming went on and on, never ending. When he could manage to think amongst the sorrowful noises, it was to long for a return to the days of the silence that he once loathed. The Pit was a place one could never get used to no matter how hard he may have tried. There was never a moment's peace. At one point he even tried to communicate with the poor miserable bastards, but most were writhing in pain and made for poor conversationalists. 

Day in, day out he saw things that were never meant to be. Unspeakable horrors that could only possibly spring from the minds of the sick, sick creatures who would many years later create an abomination known as reality television. For his part, Azrael used his (former) muse skills to inspire various tv shows. He had gotten high praises from Lucifer himself for his hand in creating _Cop Rock_. 

The tortures the mortals devised to punish themselves only got worse over time. In some areas, Azrael could barely walk for stepping on writhing bits of flesh. He wanted no part of it. He spent his time picking up incantations from some of the various inhabitants of the Underworld; hoping that one would lead to his freedom.

One day, it hit him. A light bulb would have flashed above his head, had light bulbs been invented then and were also able to manifest themselves over the heads of someone with an idea. Despite his ego, he realized that not a single soul in all of Hell paid him any attention. It was as if he didn't even exist.

After the realization of his unimportance fully sank in, he began to visit Earth undetected. He despised mortals in every way, shape, and form… but an escape from Hell, however temporary, was still an escape. He even managed to run into a couple of old angel friends and had more than a few drinks with them. Going to Earth and getting drunk with angels became his new past time. But one day, without explanation, his angel friends stopped hanging around. Soon thereafter the ability to get plastered was taken away.

Azrael continued to escape as much as possible. Often he would bring back bags upon bags of candy to keep himself occupied. He couldn't actually eat any of it, but he could taste it and that was good enough. He also began learning everything that there was to know about religion. Every time a new one popped up, he went and observed it's founder, it's followers, read all the books… he even once dyed an egg bright blue just to see what all the hub-bub was about.

However trivial it may have seemed at the time, the Easter egg made him realize something… the system was broken more so than he had previously thought. Someone killing in the name of God, whichever name they chose to call Her, could be dismissed as a group of either misguided people or simple idiots. But what couldn't be dismissed were the false idols looked upon during the two most important holidays on the Christian calendar. They may have been cartoonish figures, but was a rabbit that laid eggs that much different than a golden calf? The fat man wasn't a mystery at all. A detractor away from Jesus on His very own birthday… could it be anyone else? 

"Santa…. Hah!" Azrael laughed out loud as he washed the blue dye from his fingers. He figured at this rate, it wouldn't be long before he discovered some way to free himself forever. Even if the solution would be to negate all existence. But, even the best laid plans sometimes fail. And, of course, his did quite miserably with a golf club to the chest. 


	4. Mundacity

Dan Webster sat in nervous anticipation. He was a fairly young man, but he had been employed at Woodbrige Magiawala Inc. for so long he couldn't remember ever not working for the biggest producer of tacky home décor in all of Edison, NJ. Now he sat in the lobby outside Mr. Finniwick's office, wondering if he got the promotion he'd worked so hard for. He wasn't actually scheduled to be here this particular day, but that didn't matter. His leg was bouncing up and down nervously.

The door to Mr. Finniwick's office opened. From it exited Walt from accounting, crying profusely. The receptionist looked up from her arduous duty of polishing her nails.

"Mr. Finniwick will see you now."

Dan's first instinct was to run away. To get out of there and never look back. But, the prospect of a promotion gave him enough courage to think with a rational mind. 

Dan felt like a child when he stood before Mr. Finniwick. The man was intimidating like no other person on Earth. His office was immaculate, no doubt furnished with products from the company. The only thing out of place was a basket filled to the brim with popcorn, sitting just to Mr. Finniwick's right. He looked at Dan for a long moment before speaking to him in that unmistakable Toronto accent.

"Ah, Danny-boy, glad you could make it in today."

Dan bowed his head as he spoke.

"Yes, sir. I'm not even supposed to be here today… but I came anyway."

"Right. Well, Dan, you see… I just wanted to let you know that all of us here at Woodbrige Magiawala appreciate your hard work and long hours. However, I'm afraid that we've decided to give Ferguson the promotion.

"Ferguson? But he… but I… Why, sir?"

Mr. Finniwick leaned back slightly in his chair. 

"Because we feel that Ferguson has what it takes to be a top executive. You may work harder than anyone else in the entire building, but you're just not… well, cut throat enough. To succeed in this business, my boy, not only do you have to bring the quarterly numbers up… but you also have to be willing to do whatever it takes to come out on top. You need to be willing to do everything short of selling your soul to the devil if that means the corporation will be stronger for it. And, we just don't see you as that type of employee."

"Oh."

"Don't feel bad, you'll always have a place at Woodbridge Magiawala… the colony always needs worker bees. Maybe you should consider taking that trainee position at our Golden Ridge store over in… oh, what's the name of that damned city? You know the one with the mall next door to the sewer treatment plant. I hear that after a couple of years you don't even smell the shit. Just think it over, old top."

Fifteen minutes later, Dan sat in his own office sulking. His office was cluttered and small, a vast contrast to Mr. Finniwick's office. It was better than a cubicle, but not by much. He tried to get back to work, but couldn't. It seemed like such a pointless endeavor now that he knew that this was all this job had to offer him. Forever the lowly paper pusher. It could be worse; he could be working at a convenience store. Dan sighed.

On his cluttered desk, where pictures of loved one should have been, were instead several of Dan's beloved Wacky Wobbler dolls. Staring back at him were Count Chocula, Betty Boop, Mr. T, a Red Devil, Ash, and Cheech & Chong. He looked at the dolls. Then, the words of Mr. Finniwick echoed through his mind. 

"Can you get me that promotion?"

He flicked the head of the Red Devil so that it would nod, as if to say 'yes'.

"You can? I wish you were real so I _could_ sell you my soul… that'd show ol' Finniwick who has initiative. Wouldn't it?"

The Red Devil nodded 'yes' again, this time of it's own accord.


	5. Aggravation

The old Quasar television hummed almost merrily as it played the best that cable tv had to offer. Scenes of horribly decayed bodies lying awkwardly along the ground filled the screen. It was probably old stock footage of war atrocities. But, it didn't matter because the image stayed on the screen for exactly 0.05 seconds before it was flipped to the next channel. This new channel had scenes of the most adorable kittens at play. The channels continued to be flipped so quickly that it was a wonder any of the channels were visible at all. Some of the images that flipped by were Spongebob Squarepants, O.J. trying on the glove, two women pulling each others hair on _Jerry Springer_, the kung-fu scene from the incredibly indie film _Suzanne_, Snoop Dogg from the _Girls Gone Wild _infomercial, Jennifer Lopez in a pink hat, the Killer vs. Nibbles poster from _Half-Baked_, an Ewok, Capt. Picard saying "Cluck, cluck, cluck, Number One", Gerard Depardu, Burt Reynolds, and Teletubbies. Finally, the tv came to rest on an image of Gargamel from _The Smurfs_ laughing. That was followed by a nice close-up of Gargamel's cat laughing in an almost mocking tone. 

Azrael grunted in disgust, throwing the remote across the room.

"Fucking cartoons."

He had been so close to escape from the everlasting torment that was his existence, but now he was sitting in a hotel room cursing the television. The air conditioner was running full blast; little ribbons tied to the vent flapping in the wind.

So close… but it had all been terribly screwed up by an enormous amount of incompetence. And, what's worse than defeat was that he had been killed by that silent stoner fuck. He was well beyond shocked when it happened, but death was death. It may not have been as glamorous as unmaking existence in a big "Fuck You!" to both God and Lucifer, but it was still okay by him. So long as he no longer existed, he didn't care how it happened. As he lay there, his black blood spilling all over the floor, he couldn't help but think, "If I'd have know it was this easy, I would have assaulted myself with a putter long ago."

His joy of death wasn't to last. He woke up, not more than a half-hour later, unharmed and in Hell. He reached up and touched his forehead. His horns were still there. It was as if nothing had happened to him. But, something had happened. He felt more defeated than ever. That was about five years ago. However, time meant nothing when you never aged and never died. It might as well have been yesterday.

He sat on the bed, going over and over what had gone wrong. It was yet one more thing to mess around with his already damaged psyche. 

His choice of clothing was unusually casual. He wore a red and white ringer t-shirt that read "The Devil Made Me Do It". Some guy, who had been inexplicably telling Azrael some pointless story about his friend Corky's afternoon snacks being stolen, had been wearing it at the dirt mall. He found the guy annoying and the shirt amusing, so he killed the guy and took it. He let out a long sigh.

The short sleeves made it possible to see the nasty, albeit ancient scar that was just below his wrist. It was a souvenir from a misguided, pathetic attempt at suicide sometime during the painfully boring fourteenth century. Even if he had been mortal, it was a piss-poor cut that was too low and probably wouldn't have killed him anyway. Nothing would have come from it at all, except that God decided to make a scar form in order to remind him not to do it again. The reminder worked.

Azrael looked down at his companion, her head resting against his side; eyes shut. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought she was asleep. She never slept, but she looked peaceful. He didn't love her. He was incapable of love. Truthfully, though, he didn't think he would love her even if he could. At times, he downright loathed her. Sometimes he told her that she was beautiful. He lied every single time. He wasn't attracted to her. To him, she was just another distraction, and he would soon tire of her as he did with his other hobbies. The warmest feeling that he held for her was that of comfort. She was the closest he probably would ever get to God again. He tolerated her domestic fantasies for just this reason. Lust was the other reason. Though he couldn't do a damn thing about that one. The ability to have sex was on his top three list of wishes, just behind escape from the Pit and to feel God's love again. Now that he thought about it, sex was number four on the list; air conditioning in Hell was number three. No, on second thought, getting his wings back was more important than getting laid. Hmmm… he also wished for video games and comic books. The ability to skateboard might be nice too; demons have a notorious lack of balance. Perhaps he would actually have to number his list one day.

He once had the idea that giving pleasure to a human might give him some satisfaction, but he would rather die than intimately touch one of those disgusting animals. Then again, he'd rather die than do anything.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"What are you thinking about, Az?"

"Honestly?"

She smiled. "Of course."

"I was wishing that we could fuck."

"We could always pretend like we can."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "Don't tempt me, woman."

She was still smiling at him. He knew it was only a matter of minutes before she started up on her whole wishing to be a "real woman" thing. So long as she didn't start up the bullshit about babies again. Sometimes just the sound of her voice made him angry.

"I wonder what it would be like if we were one of _them_. A house, a white picket fence... children. It's not fair. I want us to have a baby, Azrael."

He rolled his eyes, not this again. 

"Well, it's impossible… so just forget it."

"But, I just…"

"It's fucking stupid that you want to have babies. You haven't even got a womb for christ's sake!"

Her smile faded as she buried her face in his side. He sighed again.

"Okay, look, it's not stupid. But, there's no point in even thinking about it. Just be thankful you're not damned. You wanna talk about things that aren't fair."

He ran his hand down her smooth, naked back. 

"Why don't you let them out, I know you want to."

She looked back up at him. "I didn't think…"

"Go ahead. I want you to."

She sat up, facing him. The smile had returned to her face. He forced himself to smile at her. A look of complete and total pleasure crossed her face as a pair of black wings unfolded from behind her. The wings stretched out to their full, enormous span before folding back down a bit. A fine powdery substance fell from them. 

Azrael took in the sight of her wings; he envied them so much. He couldn't imagine why she shared her time with him. She had to have known that he didn't love her. Also, if they were ever found out there'd be Hell to pay… no pun intended. 

He reached out and gently grabbed the edge of her wing, rubbing his hand along it as he did so. A happy noise escaped her.

"Oh, beautiful angel, Delilah... the unholy things I dream about us doing would make Lucifer himself retch. If only we were lowly humans."

Azrael rubbed Delilah's wing again. She touched her hand to his face, allowing him to feel her pleasure. It lasted for not even an entire second, but he felt it just the same. He stared in wonderment at this feeling she had shared. She could only give it to him once, but once in an eternity was better than never. It was as if his brain had completely shut off. Pleasure overload. She leaned forward to kiss him. The moment their lips touched, they were interrupted by an "ah-hem!"

Delilah squealed as she quickly sat beside Azrael, pulling the pea green blanket up to cover herself. She wasn't doing so out of modesty, but in a poor attempt to hide her wings from the unwelcome visitor. Azrael glared across the room, an annoyed look crossing his face. Though it was hard to tell if he was actually annoyed, as he usually looked like that. But, he was annoyed, very much so. He probably hated demons more than angels, but not as much as humans.

His name was Saminga, the self-proclaimed Prince of Death. He was dressed in black and had the pointy curved horns of the classic demon. Looking at him you could almost imagine a tail and pitchfork.

"Azrael, Azrael, Azrael… still pretending that you have a dick, I see. And, with an angel no less. You truly are a disgrace to our kind."

"What you think is of no concern to me. What I do is my own fucking business."

Saminga laughed to himself, running a hand through his hair. Azrael had decided that if Saminga were human, he would the smarmiest yuppie southern California had to offer. 

"Ya think? Well, I can think of a few of the Powers on both ends of the spectrum who'd be more than a little bit interested in how you spend your more than abundant free time."

He wouldn't dare. Would he? 

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I? I think I would much enjoy ratting you out. Just the thought alone of you confined to an eternity of solitude in the deepest, darkest corner of Hell almost makes me happy. And, you wouldn't be able to do a fucking thing about it, you suicidal little shit. However, I was sent up on business."

"What kind of business?"

"Oh, just a little job. It's nothing difficult. You just have to write up a contract and buy some schmuck's soul with it."

Azrael didn't like the sound of that at all. He despised anything that even remotely resembled work. He'd rather be bored doing what he wanted to do, as opposed to being bored doing something that someone else told him to do. And, besides, no one had ever sold their soul to him before. He wasn't even sure if people actually did that kind of thing.

"I don't know the first thing about writing contracts. Isn't this what all those lawyers down there are for?"

"They've got all the lawyers busy working on this really huge fucking lawsuit. They're suing Dirt Devil and the Jersey Devils. And, if they win, they're going after everything from _Devil In A Blue Dress _to _Daredevil_. Not to mention Deviled Ham."

"What about _She-Devil_?"

"Already own it. As for the contract, it's not difficult. All you have to do is write on a piece of paper that this guy agrees to let you give him a job promotion. He signs it; and when his number's up, he's ours. Well, not ours personally, but you know what I mean."

"If I do this… you'll keep your mouth shut?"

"For the time being. Don't fuck this up, Azrael. But, remember, if you do… it's your ass, not mine."

With that, Saminga disappeared to the shadows whence he came. Azrael leaned back, hitting his head on the wall. He didn't need this right now. He didn't need this ever. He frowned at Delilah. 

"Sorry, babe, I have to go to work."

Just smile, nod, frown, anything but speak. He would rather have gone deaf than hear her voice.

"If you must, Azzie-wazzie."

Ugh! He visibly cringed. Nails on a black board would have been preferable to that. Getting nailed _to_ a black board would have been preferable as well. 

"Oh, I must."


	6. The Demon & Daniel Webster

Dan shivered violently. It was as if the temperature in his office had suddenly dropped to almost freezing. He looked up to see a man, wearing a white suit and hat, leaning against the closed door. He smirked at Dan.

"Hello. You were so quiet that I didn't even hear you come in. Can I help you with something?"

Azrael walked up to Dan's desk. 

"The question is, can _I_ help _you_? What do you want, Dan?"

"Excuse me?"

Azrael picked up the Red Devil doll and looked at it for a long moment. Stereotypes, the world had no shortage of them. In all the time that he'd spent in Hell, he'd never once seen a demon with red skin or a tail. The pitchfork was the devil equivalent of a watermelon. He couldn't even remember seeing an ugly demon. But, it didn't matter now. He shook his head at the doll, then placed it back onto the desk.

"If you could have anything, what would it be?"

Dan stared at him, dumbfounded.

"I'm afraid I don't…"

Azrael rolled his eyes. If he had a blood pressure, it would have shot up at least a hundred points. He could never stress enough that he hated humans.

"What you want, Dan! Christ, you humans…. I swear I could have a more intelligent conversation with a fucking tree!"

Dan said nothing, only infuriating the demon more. Azrael let out a frustrated noise and waited a minute before he continued.

"Let's move this along, shall we? You wished that you could sell your soul to the almighty Prince of Darkness in exchange for this job promotion you so desperately seek. Am I right, Dan?"

Again, Dan said nothing.

"Am I right?!" 

"Y… Y… Yes."

"He speaks! Well, I'm here to make your wishes come true."

Azrael chose this moment to remove his hat, placing it neatly on a nearby chair. Dan's eyes grew wide at the sight of Azrael's horns. His primitive brain refusing to believe that this was happening. 

"Are you the d… d… de…"

Azrael shrugged, whatever worked.

"Sure, why not? Now all you have to do is sign this contract and I'll be on my way."

Azrael reached in his pocket and from it produced a napkin covered in sloppy writing. This was the contract, hastily scribbled in the hotel room. He set it in front of Dan. 

"This is a contract? This is a napkin."

Come on; come on… feckless mortals. Always questioning everything. 

"Just sign it."

Dan narrowed his eyes at Azrael, suddenly dubious of the whole situation.

"How do I know I can trust you? I don't think you're the devil at all."

"You're right. Actually, I'm a demon who got blackmailed into doing this… but the contract stands just the same. And, what's there to trust? If I am who I say I am, you'll get the promotion. And, if I'm just some yahoo who happens to have a pair of horns growing out of his fucking head, you won't be out anything. Now, shut-up and sign the goddamn napkin."

Dan considered the napkin, the signed it. The moment he pulled his pen back, Azrael snatched the napkin from the desk.

"Just one more thing…"

Without warning, a ball of fire erupted from the floor. It quickly faded into the shape of a very small man wearing a business suit and glasses. Azrael held the napkin/contract out to the man; who then stamped it with a notary stamp. The man disappeared back into a ball of fire as quickly as he had appeared.

Azrael separated the napkin into two identical carbon copies, tossing one onto the desk. The other copy was returned to his pocket. Dan looked around, as if expecting something to happen. It didn't. 

"When will I get the promotion?"

Azrael looked down at his arm as if he was wearing a watch, which he wasn't. 

"Right about……………….. Now."

As if on cue, someone screamed. Dan turned around in time to see a body quickly whoosh past his window on it's way to the ground below. Dan turned back around, a look of confusion and horror on his face. Azrael smiled at him. His most evil smile that he saved for just these special occasions. The phone on Dan's desk started to ring several times.

"I think you should answer that."

Dan, white as a ghost, picked up the receiver.

"Hel… hello? Yes. Thank you."

He hung the phone back up with some difficulty. A look of bewilderment replaced the confusion on his face, first at the phone then at Azrael.

Azrael knew perfectly well what was said on the phone, but he asked, "Who was that?" anyway.

"It… It was my boss. Ferguson's dead… And I got his job."

"Congratulations, Dan."

"Thank… you."

Azrael replaced his hat as he walked towards the door. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, he turned around. He smiled at Dan, then tilted his hat.

"See ya in Hell."

With that, he disappeared. Dan continued to stare at the place Azrael had been standing. After a moment, Dan snapped out of it and began to examine the napkin. He picked up the phone.

"Janice, get me O'Donahue down in legal."


	7. Simple Creatures

"Azrael was right, Hell blows."

That was Loki's assessment of the situation. Actually, that had been his assessment every single day for the past five years and Bartleby couldn't agree more. They died humans and went to Hell for their trespasses. But, having been angels they knew the loophole of the Pit. Something that the miserable humans hadn't yet figured out, if they ever would. 

They sat at a card table, playing Go Fish. Next to them was a tv, on it an ad stating the program line-up. Clips of the shows played as an announcer spoke.

"You've been watching _Mrs. Doubtfire _on the Underworld Network. Coming up next, _Mrs. Doubtfire_. Followed by _Mrs. Doubtfire_. On HTV this afternoon is a marathon of _The Real World_. Also, tonight you can catch a full hour of family fun on PAX TV…"

"Turn that shit off."

Loki shrugged and switched the television off. He looked back over to Bartleby, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You're fucking cheating."

Bartleby shook his head. 

"You still are a simple, simple creature. Why would I cheat at such an easy game?"

"Because you can? I don't fucking know. I just know that you are."

Bartleby sighed, tossing his cards down onto the table.

"I give up. And, for your information, you're wrong. Just like you always are."

"Name one proven example. Not counting _Krush Groove _because the jury's still out on that one."

"Crystal Pepsi."

Loki sat silent for a moment.

"Ouch."

"I also seem to recall you saying that _Hi Honey I'm Home _was going to change the face of sitcoms forever."

"I was right about _Tougher Than Leather_."

"How in the world can you claim that you were right about _Tougher Than Leather_?"

"_Tougher Than Leather_ was classic. Run-DMC fighting crime, Rick Rubin the bad guy. How much better can it get?"

"Oh, I don't know, boys… _Hell Comes To Frog Town_ gets my vote as a superior film."

Azrael's voice appeared before he did. When he did appear, he was smiling ear to ear. 

"Felix and Oscar, long time no see. Conversation still at a lull, I take it."

"Listen to this suave motherfucker. _Hell Comes to Frog Town_? Are you out of your mind, Azrael?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

Azrael sat down at the table with his former angel friends. Seemed almost like old times for a moment, only this time they weren't inebriated as Sodom and Gomorra burned. He took his hat off and set it onto the table in front of him. Loki stared up at his horns. Azrael caught the stare and shot a hateful look back at him.

"Sorry, Az. I still can't get used to the sight of you with horns. It's kind of funny."

"Yeah. Well, how's eternal damnation treating you?"

Loki shrugged. Bartleby spoke up quickly to change the subject.

"So, how's… um… what's her name? 

Azrael sighed and shook his head.

"Have either of you ever shared your time with a woman? No, I don't suppose you have. Sometimes I think I'd rather sit down here and rot rather than look at that fucking angel, or whatever the fuck she is, again. What's been going on down here?"

"Not much. We go over to Friar Rush's about once a week and play darts with some of the atheists. It's much more boring here than I would have expected."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Watch _Mrs. Doubtfire _yet?"

Loki snorted, "Only about a million fucking times. Siskel over here can't get enough."

Bartleby looked down and shrugged. Azrael picked the cards up off the table and started to shuffle them.

"You ladies are pathetic. So, are we gonna play cards or what?"


	8. Technicality

Lionel O'Donahue was probably about the most unprofessional looking lawyer in the history of frivolous lawsuits. He looked like he belonged behind the counter of a video store, not arguing cases before a jury. But he was good at what he did. Damn good. He read over the napkin several times, before returning his gaze up to Dan. 

"I'm sorry, Dan, you just don't have a case."

"What?! You mean I'm going to Hell?"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. Did you actually read this sorry excuse for a contract?"

"Yes."

"I don't think you did. You've been had, my friend."

Lionel held the napkin out for Dan to read again.

__

I, Daniel Webster, do hereby agree to allow myself to be promoted into the job position of my choice. 

Signed,

D. Webster

"And?"

"And? What and? No where does this thing say that you are obligated to pay anything for said promotion, be it money or your soul. Whoever wrote this obviously didn't know what he was doing. It's useless."

Lionel ripped the napkin half. A wave of relief fell over Dan. 

"Oh, and Dan, that'll be $500."

"For what?!"

"Legal counseling, you savage."


	9. Them

The darkness, the cold, the silence, the complete and utter feeling of emptiness… It was the only place in the entire realm of the Pit that resembled the old days, but it was also the only place every demon dreaded. 

Azrael squinted into the darkness, trying to focus his eyes on anything at all. One minute he was playing cards with his friends and the next he was here. They who had no names had summoned him. There was more than one, he was sure, but no one had ever seen Them. At least no one who was now able to speak about it. He was on his knees, but he didn't know how he had gotten there.

A rustle. They were here, quietly watching. He tried to stand, but a hand on his shoulder prevented him from doing so.

"Stay still, muse!" came a low growl behind him. 

It was Saminga. What had he said to Them? Every moment of silence seemed like an eternity. Finally, They spoke. Multiple voices as one.

"Azrael, the contract you wrote was invalid. We are displeased with you again."

"But, it's not my fault. I'm a fucking demon… what do I know about writing contracts? I'm not even supposed to be _in_ Hell."

Silence. Rustling. 

"We have decided that allowing you continued access to the mortal realm is a far more severe punishment than forcing you to stay here. We know of the envy you feel for them. That is your Hell. However, if you are unable to appease us, we will take that away from you as well. Perhaps hanging by your feet for the span of eternity will teach you to be more cooperative." 

Azrael hung his head, defeated. He remained quiet, not wanting to upset Them anymore than They already were. He felt a sharp poke in his lower back, no doubt Saminga shoving him.

"Whatever you wish of me."

"There is a woman on Earth who is important to us. You must find her."

"There's a lot of women up there. How will I know when I find her?"

"She will find you. When she does, you will know what to do."


	10. Rods Of God Snoogins

Azrael opened his mouth to ask another question, but was silenced by a blinding light. The sudden change from complete darkness to light took a few minutes to adjust to. He looked around, unsure of where he was. It was obviously Earth, but other than that he wasn't quite sure. He could be anywhere, looking for anyone. He was sitting on a sidewalk that he was sure of. His hat sat beside him. He quickly put it on, hoping no one had seen his horns.

A bell jingled behind him, followed by a stoner voice.

"Holy shit, Silent Bob! It's that pimp dressin', Brodie lookin', undead motherfucker what yous killed in the bar! Get him!"

Azrael turned around just in time to see a long swaft of blond hair before he was knocked backwards onto the ground. He opened his eyes to see Jay, pinning him down to the parking lot; one hand raised in a fist. Behind Jay stood his so-called hetero life mate, Silent Bob. The Prophets. Great, just what he needed.

Azrael easily pushed Jay off of him as he stood. He brushed the dust off of his suit and replaced his hat yet one more time. The gray sky, the odd smell, the presence of these two; he was in New Jersey. More specifically, he was in the parking lot of the Quick Stop. Jay kept his fist up as he backed away slowly. Silent Bob stood silently, smoking a cigarette.

"Don't come any closer or else Instrument of God here will knock your fucking demon ass back to Hell."

"Please. Put your fist down, little boy. Quiet Robert is no Instrument of God."

Jay looked to Silent Bob, who in turn shrugged and nodded in agreement. Jay put his fist down, and stepped two large steps behind Silent Bob.

"All right, but ain't yous supposed to be dead and shit? What the fuck are yous doing here at the Quick Stop?"

"No and I don't know. I was sent up to find someone and I'm starting to think that you two simpletons are going to lead me to her."

"Huh?"

Silent Bob looked at Jay and gestured with his hand in a semi-circle movement. Jay understood.

"Oh. Why the fuck would yous think that shit? Me and Lunchbox ain't helping yous find nobody. So, there."

Jay held his hand up in a demon sign. Silent Bob nodded his head. Azrael sighed, as he often did. These two were a tremendous annoyance. If they were anyone else, he'd just kill them and be done with it. But, unfortunately, they of all people were the Prophets. And, if he harmed them… well… he wasn't sure what exactly would happen. Nothing good could come of it, he was sure. Maybe a little peace and quiet, but that was about the only positive he could see.

"Listen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, I didn't ask to come up here to have my i.q. lowered by you two fucking stoners. You're prophets, so prophesies and tell me where to find this woman."

Jay and Silent Bob shrugged at each other.

"I don't know what the fuck yous talking about. We don't know nothing about no fucking woman. We was just about to cut out early and go visit this tubby bitch's niece."

"What did you say?"

"Lunchbox's fine ass little niece is in town and we was just about to head down to Point Pleasant to meet up with her. So, if yous don't mind…"

Jay and Silent Bob pushed their way past Azrael. He stood for a moment thinking over what Jay had just said. Either they were no help at all, or they had told him exactly where to go and who to look for when he got there. From behind him came a voice he'd never heard before.

"Hey Shatner!"

He turned to see Silent Bob, about a car's length away, staring back at him. 

"Stay away from my niece."


	11. Papaya & Cotton Candy

Point Pleasant Beach's boardwalk was covered in sweaty people walking to and fro. Some of the people had stuffed animals; others had over priced items from the gift shop across from the bathrooms. It was a place of fun and skeeball… hermit crabs, rock snobs, yummy waffles topped with ice cream, and a bar that played cheesy music. But, it was not a place where you could find a sno cone, try as you might. You'd sooner find a snowball in Hell than find someone who'd ever so much as heard of a sno cone in Point Pleasant. 

Azrael materialized, leaning against the corner of a stand selling pizza and garlic knots. No one seemed to have noticed him appearing from nowhere aside from the little old lady behind the counter. She didn't seem fazed though, just looked at him before cursing in Italian and walking off. 

Azrael stood up and adjusted his hat. He still was unsure why, but he had the feeling that he needed to find Silent Bob's niece. Though he had no idea what she looked like nor what age she was. He looked up and down the boardwalk. There was nothing but a sea of people, none of whom stuck out to him. He walked through the gift shop and the arcade; around the picnic tables and through the bar that was blasting Jimmy Buffet tunes. He tried looking in the areas around the rides, along the beach, even past the crane machine filled with Terrance and Phillip dolls. Nothing, aside from getting run into by countless little kids. The ice cream shop, the restaurant, the bathrooms, the volleyball net & the mysterious blue mat on the sand. It was starting to get dark. Jay and Silent Bob would be arriving soon, if they hadn't already. Surely it didn't take that long for them to catch a bus from Leonardo to Red Bank, then take the train to Point Pleasant. With luck, they had a transfer or got lost. Maybe they had taken the bus straight from Leonardo and had already arrived… and left with the girl. Regardless of their choice of transportation, the chances of finding her was getting slim. 

He walked down onto the beach again, this time far away from the boardwalk. He sat down onto the sand, watching the waves crash as he wondered what They would do to him when he came back empty handed. It was sure to be something that he couldn't even imagine. He pulled off his shoes and socks, letting the sand squish between his toes. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the ocean and the distant boardwalk. 

"Hi."

It was a gentle, quiet voice that he wasn't completely sure he'd actually heard. He opened his eyes to see a girl, not more than thirteen sitting beside him, drinking something out of a cup that said "Papaya Madness" in large neon letters. 

"Um… hi."

She said nothing for a long moment, just stared at him.

"I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure so I followed you down here. I was beginning to think that I had imagined the whole thing, but here you are."

The girl reached over and pulled Azrael's hat off. He expected her to run, but she only smiled.

"It is you!"

Now he was completely confused. He was sure he'd never seen this girl before.

"Have we met?"

"About five years ago my mother and I were taking a road trip across the midwest. I saw you in a store and you smiled at me."

"That was you?"

"I was much smaller then."

Oh, yeah. He sometimes forgot that humans changed in appearance. Whereas his kind basically stayed the same for all eternity, well most of them anyway. She just kept staring at him. He shifted a little bit. He didn't like the look in her eyes; it was something that he'd never seen before. She lightly touched one of his horns.

"I dreamt you'd come back for me."

He looked at her as if to say 'What?!'. Before he could say anything, though, she had already leaned over and kissed him. Kissing her was much different than kissing Delilah. The girl's mouth was warm, wet, and tasted like papaya juice and cotton candy. It was, in a word, disgusting. He quickly separated from her, doing everything he could to keep from saying 'yuck' out loud. The girl wrinkled her nose at him.

"Don't tell me demons have some sort of moral code about teenage girls too."

"No. It doesn't matter what age you are, I couldn't fuck you if I wanted to. Which I don't."

That was only half-true. He hoped she wouldn't notice his obvious discomfort with her. She was an inferior life form, why should he care what she thought? He hoped she would go away. Or kiss him again, he wasn't sure which.

"Why not?"

"It doesn't matter."

He was too tired to argue with her over any point. It would only be a matter of time before he would be summoned back to the Pit. He really didn't want to spend his last night on Earth talking to some ditsy girl. But, here he was. 

He stood, brushing the sand off his pants as he did. He walked down to where the dry sand and wet sand met. The sound of the girl sucking the last of the papaya drink floated up from behind him. 

"Azrael?"

Without turning, he asked, "How do you know my name?"

"You told me in my dream."

"Did I say anything else?"

The girl was quiet, then said, "You told me to find you so I could serve my purpose or something like that."

He looked over. She was now standing a few feet away from him, letting the water wash over her bare feet. As he watched her, a few dirty thoughts crept into his mind. But, they were pushed out by a sound in his head that was not his own. It was Them, speaking in their multiple voices. It was hard to understand at first, but when he did understand he wished he hadn't. Even by his standards this seemed wrong.

He looked down to the ground and whispered, "No."

They repeated themselves again; complete with a quite nasty visual of what would happen to him if he didn't follow their instructions. What he wouldn't give to be a carefree human at times like these.

He walked up behind her, hesitating. He reminded himself that demons didn't feel remorse and of what would happen if he didn't do this. They would get the job done anyway with or without him. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly. She giggled playfully. She couldn't see his face; or else she would have known he wasn't holding her to be friendly. Her giggling made it worse. Her innocence, her obliviousness to her purpose in the grand scheme of things. Yet, she had willingly kissed a demon, so she must not have been too innocent. He placed his free hand on her stomach, just below her navel. She wiggled a little bit and made a happy noise.

Then, it happened. He never moved his hand once, but deep within her abdomen came a burning sensation.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "I have no choice."

It took only a few seconds, but it seemed to have lasted forever. He knew that it must have felt like her insides were being torn out. She cried, as he had expected her to. He'd never seen anyone outside of Hell cry like she did. She was in pain and was frightened and confused. All he was doing was holding her, yet it felt like there was a fire burning below his hand. He was holding her so tightly that he was sure he was bruising her small arms. But, he had to make sure she didn't wiggle out of his grasp. This had to be finished once started.

He let go of her. She dropped to the ground onto her butt. Neither of them said anything or moved. She looked up at him with red, tear filled eyes. He looked back down at her, not believing that he felt bad about what he had done. She put her hand to her stomach. Something inside felt different.

"What did you do?"

He wasn't sure if he should tell her or not. She would find out soon enough. Too soon, by his estimate.

"Making sure you fulfill your purpose."


	12. Waiting For The End

The snow drifted peacefully down to the already white ground. There was absolutely no one in the forest aside from two people who technically weren't people at all. Azrael wasn't sure where they were, but it was cold and that's all that mattered. He sat on a fallen tree, his head resting on Delilah's shoulder. They had been here ever since he left the girl sitting on the beach. 

"I thought you would be happy about this. You're always talking about how you don't want to live."

"I don't, but I just want to get blinked out of existence. I don't want to be around for the Judgment and all that other shit. I've been through Judgments before… Besides, God told me a long time ago that when the big one comes, I'm going to be absolute last to fucking die behind everybody else. I'll never understand what He has against me."

Delilah patted his head, "There, there… I'm sure She has Her reasons."

Azrael simply grunted in reply.

"Are you sure you did it right?"

"You don't mess something like that up."

"What are we supposed to do now?"

"Wait. It's all we can do. Just wait until someone decides that it's time for that girl's unborn son and the Christ Bitch's daughter to start Armageddon."

They sat in silence; the only sound was that of snow falling and of branches creaking. He hoped that she wouldn't say anything. The Earth's days were numbered, and he didn't want to waste them by listening to her whine about babies. Then again, he often ended up doing things he didn't want to do, like exist.


End file.
